


Let me occupy your mind (as you do mine)

by LilahFrost



Series: Stardust/Sunshine (Big Time Hunger) [1]
Category: Big Time Rush, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:01:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilahFrost/pseuds/LilahFrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the 70th Hunger Games, James Diamond loses his mind. Kendall Knight just tries not to lose everything altogether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let me occupy your mind (as you do mine)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stardust](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/7859) by Garnetice. 



 

 Its hours before they let Kendall near him, hours that feel like days.

Kendall’s locked away in a swanky apartment, complete with expensive furnishings and hourly meals and sealed doors and windows.

It’s a whole new type of agony, not knowing if James is safe, or even alive.  When the games were on he was never safe, but he was never really out of Kendall’s sight either.

The last time Kendall saw him on the screens in the Mentor’s Observatory, James was hardly recognizable beneath his soaked clothes and matted hair, fresh blood painting his face and arms as he crawled out of the tidal pool that had engulfed the arena.

Kendall has no idea where or how he is now, but watching James lifted from the arena certainly didn’t fill him with relief.

He throws pillows and vases and waits for a reaction, he beats at the sealed door, screams into the communicator, trashes the Capitol-provided accommodation.

It’s not behavior becoming of Kendall Knight, the most desirable man in Panem, it’s certainly not what the public have come to expect from the shining golden boy they see on their screens most nights.

God knows Griffin won’t be pleased.

His knuckles and hands are red raw by the time he considers the bar, a retreat from civilization he usually leaves to Gustavo, unless his cherished guest of the evening is particularly undesirable.

The Capitol’s finest douse themselves in expensive perfumes, which to Kendall taste like misery, pain and blood.

It’s the smell of the arena, of the Capitol itself, the smell of Griffin; sickeningly sweet and dizzyingly strong. It makes Kendall think of death.

So yeah, sometimes the alcohol helps.

He’s three-quarters through a bottle of Gustavo’s personal favorite, his throat and taste buds burnt and stripped down to nothing, when the man himself comes through the door, Lucy Fucking Stone by his side.

In all ways Kendall comes from the ocean, he’s fluid and free and constantly moving.

Lucy, earthy and strong and constantly vicious, is the closest thing Kendall’s ever found to real, human fire.

She gets under his skin like no other.

Kendall tries to jump up, hoping against hope that they’re bringing James to him, that James will follow them into the room, broad smile and warm eyes of gold.

But the world lurches violently, and Kendall falls back against the couch he’s already torn to shreds.

Somewhere deep down Kendall knows that this James, _his James_ , is long gone.

He takes another drink.

 

“Where is he?” Kendall slurs, the room still caught in an inelegant spin-cycle.

“Probably at the nuthouse by now,” Lucy says with a smirk, tapping her watch.

The world’s a blur, but Kendall doesn’t have to see Lucy to know her self-satisfied smile, it’s constantly present.

Fuck, the most memorable image of the games a few years ago was a tiny, shivering Lucy Stone emerging from the scrub, so timid and weak she’d almost been forgotten amongst the sponsors and the gambling types. Forgotten that is, until she plunged an axe into the side of an older kid from Kendall’s own District Four.

Once the kid’s body had shuddered into stillness, Lucy had stepped into the light and, wiping his blood from her arms, smiled directly into a nearby camera.

 She was strong, victorious, and wholly terrifying.

Kendall throws the bottle of white liquor in Lucy’s vague direction, much to Gustavo’s disgust.

“That,” he states airily, “Is an incredible waste of good booze.”

Gustavo points at Kendall, and Kendall attempts to focus on his chubby finger, unaware how someone who does nothing but drink manages to maintain finger fat.

“You’re an incredible waste of everything.” Is Kendall’s response as he lies back into the overstuffed couch, allowing himself to sink into its plush-ness with the distant hope it might just engulf him whole.

“Your tribute is being cared for by _The Capitol’s finest_ ,” says Gustavo with a wave of his fingers, wisely ignoring Kendall’s petulance.

“He’s pretty far gone, the worst they’ve seen, but they’ll let you see him in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Kendall says, reaching for another bottle of white liquor, until it’s unfairly snatched from his grasp by Gustavo,

“Nope. That’s mine. Stuff’s not made for delicate little Careers like you, Knight. Leave it for the men.”

Lucy rolls her eyes and hands Kendall a bottle of something dark and thick. It smells like tar.

“Let him drink,” she says, grabbing a bottle for herself.

“God knows he’ll need it for tomorrow.”

 

There’s the clinking of glass bottles, and then there’s murmurs of conversation, a recount of how each mentor reacted when their precious tributes were slaughtered.

Kendall feels strangely disconnected to it all, laughing as he recalls the mentor from District Two flipping his shit as his pride and joy walked into a terribly constructed and wholly obvious trap just a day into The Games.

They drink until sunrise, and Kendall falls into an uneasy sleep, Lucy wrapped around him on the once beautifully upholstered couch.

“Sorry about your crazy boyfriend,” Lucy whispers into his neck, and Kendall thinks it might almost sound sincere.

//

 

When he wakes, the apartment smells like food, and not the lavish breakfasts of pastries and gourmet sausages that usually serve for food in the Capitol. Real food, bacon and eggs dripping in fat and fresh bread and...sardines?

“It’s the only fish they’d give me,” chirps Gustavo  cheerfully from behind the counter.

  
“Um. Ok,” says Kendall, pinching the bridge of his nose, unsure how Gustavo is even _standing_ right now, let alone cooking.

Kendall feels like a kid on his first day on the water, green in the gills and desperate for the world to stop swaying and swirling. He still remembers it, a big silver vest being jammed over his head and the pats on the back from the fisherman as they made their way down the wharf, a line of tiny boys and girls going out to sea. It had taken him a year to become accustomed to the rock and rhythm of the water, a year before he could hold back the sick until they got back to land.

By then a new group of rookies had started, and Kendall was captivated by a boy bigger than himself, with long brown hair and brown eyes flecked with gold. James had taken to the water straight away, and Kendall’s dad, one of the instructors at the time, had come home singing the praises of this remarkable little boy who was already one with the water.

Kendall tries to shake his head of thoughts of James, focuses instead on Lucy, sitting at the table, head in hands, apparently feeling just as shitty as Kendall himself.

“Here,” Gustavo says, slamming a small bottle of pills onto the table.

“Hangover be gone, take two, no more.”

In minutes Kendall’s head is lighter, color is returning to Lucy’s cheeks and they’re  feeling almost like normal again.

“If you have these, why don’t you take them every day, instead of being a disgusting mess?” Lucy asks, as gentle as ever.

“Because, sweetheart, that would defeat the purpose of drinking myself to death.”

Kendall laughs, deep and rich, and Gustavo and Lucy stare at him, probably worried that he’s lost his mind now too, but it breaks the tension and Gustavo rolls his eyes, and begins to serve the food.

Breakfast is almost pleasant, despite the icy cold sickness that sits in the bottom of Kendall’s stomach like a stone. They break bread and manage to eat civilly, Lucy glaring at Kendall every time he motions to push his plate away. He’s pretty glad for the company in the end; fairly certain he would have broken more than just a few furnishings had the cavalry not arrived when it did.

There’s silence as the ominous alarm rings, and the Capitol Feed surges to life, Miles Bainbridge’s familiar face filling the screen.

Kendall’s breath catches in his throat.

“I hope you’re ready folks,” Begins Bainbridge, vacant grin as brilliant as ever, “in just a few short days we have the big one, our exclusive interview with the winner of the 70th Hunger Games, James Diamond of District 4. Obviously due to certain events there has been some delay in the presentation of our champion, but our team is working hard to get him fit and ready for the interview. So never fear, Mr. James Diamond will be here with me in the studio and you absolutely cannot miss it. It’s going to be a tide-turner, that’s for sure.”

Miles laughs at his own joke, and an empty bottle of wine collides with the projector screen, shattering it.

Kendall barges to the door, throwing all his weight into it, pounding and slamming with his already bruised and bleeding hands as he screams James’ name over and over.

 “I’d like you to step away from the door, Kendall.”

The voice from the other side is soft, gentle.

It sends chills down Kendall’s spine.

He steps back and watches the door open slowly, cradling his slightly more battered arm.

Griffin smiles at him as he always does, casting an eye over the apartment but saying nothing of it. Instead he merely looks at Kendall, and Kendall fights the urge to hit him square in the jaw.

“I take it you’d like to see our Victor now?”

 

//

 

The walk to the hospital room feels all too familiar.

Kendall’s never consciously walked it of course, he’s not sure anybody but Griffin and his guard ever has. The memory of this journey after his victory is nothing but a serious of disconnected flashes and unfamiliar sounds. All around him machines had beeped, masked faces whispered in hushed tones as they’d sped down corridors of blinding white and rooms of shining platinum.

 It’s much the same now, as Kendall is escorted from vehicle to vehicle, down twisting pathways and maze-like hallways until he has no idea where the fuck he is anymore.

That too, is very familiar.

The room is at the end of a very long corridor, its door and walls are glass (or something like it) and James is tiny in his bed, curled on his side and facing away from them.

Kendall forces his way through his entourage of guards, pauses at the door just long enough for Griffin to give the nod and then he’s there, with James, for what seems like the first time in months.

He doesn’t quite know what to do.

 

In the last few days of the 70th Hunger Games, James Diamond became a stranger. Wild and frightened and nothing like the shining boy-god Kendall had once seen him to be.

Kendall would never forget the horror scene that was poor Camille’s grisly end, the way that all the life had appeared to drain from James’ body, his face ghostly white and totally, completely vacant.

And then there was the screaming.

The cries of an animal wounded and untamed. The girl from District One had bolted into the forest, onto her next prey and James had run too, but with far less purpose or direction. A fleeting close-up from a hidden camera had managed to catch a brief glimpse of his beautiful face, flecked with Camille’s blood.

For a moment Kendall had searched for the eyes he had always adored, their golden glow a comfort, even when the world was constantly closing in on them. James was his light, the strength Kendall had needed long after he’d been lifted from the Arena.

They’d gone to sea together, their only possible escape. But this was a threat not even the open expanse of the ocean could save them from.

Whatever had been in James’ eyes before was long gone. If the lasting image of Lucy’s games was her manic grin as she murdered without second thought, then the lasting image of James’ would be the fleeting shot of his once beautiful eyes; now wild and crazed, and completely inhuman.

 

“James,” Kendall says softly as he edges towards the bed.

“Jamie?”

The childhood nickname is something of a secret. Proud, beautiful James had never allowed Kendall to use it anywhere in public, especially not the training centre where they’d spent most of their time on land.

 “Kendall.”

James’ voice is quiet, weak.

It doesn’t stop Kendall from practically throwing himself onto the bed beside him.

  
“I’m sorry.” He says, and Kendall shakes his head.

“Why would you be sorry? Fuck, James. You won, you came back. You’re still here.” It’s a flurry of words, and James’ face, primed and polished back to perfection already, scrunches up in confusion as Kendall rambles at him.

“I didn’t want to do it,” he says, shaking his head slowly, “I didn’t want to do it.”

His body shivers beneath the blankets, and Kendall watches as James’ eyes dart nervously around the room.

“James,” he says, pulling back the sheets to take James’ hand,

“I wanted to go back Kendall, I just wanted to go home but I didn’t mean it I swear.”

But Kendall is distracted, staring at James’ hands.

“What is this?”

The cuffs are huge, connected by chains to the sides of James’ bed. It’s thick, cold, unforgiving metal that holds James’ hands by his side.

Kendall’s back at the window in seconds.

“What have you done to him!?” He roars, his eyes locking with Griffin’s through the glass.

Griffin’s expression does not change; he merely nods at a guard and steps into the room as calm as ever.

“What seems to be the problem?” He asks, smiling down at Kendall.

Kendall steadies himself and grits his teeth, focusing on keeping his feet as Griffin’s heady scent wafts towards him.

The walls are closing in again.

“Why is he chained to the bed?” he manages to ask civilly, as his blood boils below the surface.

“Ah yes, the bindings,” says Griffin with a carefree wave of his hand.

“Chains,” Kendall corrects. He’s seen bindings, bindings are lined with fur or leather, and they give the captive some small comfort. These are iron chains, for animals.

Griffin’s gaze sharpens.

“Your friend here was not in what we would call _good spirits_ , Kendall. He has been quite difficult to deal with, and has physically attacked several of our staff when they were trying to treat his injuries.”

“I wonder why he’d be acting that way?” snipes Kendall, in exactly the aggressive tone that James used to admonish him for, whenever Kendall got frustrated with the politics of Griffin and the Capitol in all the wrong places.

“Now, Kendall,” says Griffin, stepping closer to Kendall, the flowery stench fully engulfing Kendall now, so that bile begins to rise in his throat.

He’s suddenly very glad for the presence of the peacekeepers and Capitol businessmen outside, certain that were they not here, Griffin would have him up against the wall by now, his breath hot on Kendall’s neck.

“I understand that James here is a _close_ friend of yours.”

Griffin’s eyes are pointed, sharp; they say a million things, as always. The clearest though, suggests that Griffin knows exactly how close they are.

It makes Kendall’s skin prickle, to think of Griffin watching him and James back in the Victor’s village, or out by the docks on warm nights back in District Four. Nights where Kendall woke up screaming in cold sweats, the mutilated hands of a dead girl from District 8 wrapped tight around his throat. Nights where James kissed him, loved him, fucked him into oblivion, all in the name of a dreamless sleep.

It’s not even clear to Kendall sometimes, what his relationship with James actually is, what its rhyme or reason might be. What he knows is that James is a part of him, that they’re forever entwined by something stronger than games or victory or blood.

It’s this relationship that puts Kendall’s position as Griffin’s most valuable recruit at risk.

“I was hoping that, given our rich history, you might find it within yourself to help me. The post-Games interview is an important tradition, and many young, impressionable people tune it to watch their new hero take the stage. I’m sure you can imagine the disappointment on their faces if the interview was not to go ahead, or if our newest Victor was anything less than the sparkling Diamond he was in the initial interview,” Griffin smiles, showing far too many teeth.

“I understand,” says Kendall dully, dragging his gaze from Griffin to James’ form beneath the stark white blankets.

_You were safer in the arena._

“Wonderful!” Griffin says, slapping Kendall on the back before nodding at the men in the hallway.

“Oh, and Kendall,” Griffin pauses, halfway out the door, “Do say hello to your Mother for me, and of course your lovely little sister. I do so enjoy that little girl; she has a lot of _moxie_.”

It’s all Kendall can do not to fall to the floor as Griffin and his men depart, leaving only two guards by the door. Griffin’s threats aren’t new, but they’re usually better disguised. Somehow his crassness has Kendall feeling more sick with worry than normal.

If Lucy Stone gets under Kendall’s skin, Griffin makes Kendall want to tear his skin clean from his body.

“What was that about?”

Kendall turns to James, now sitting up, chained hands resting on his lap.

His eyes are still glassy, his face tired.

Kendall smiles just a little.

“You’re alive.” He says, and moves to the bed, wrapping James in his arms, eager to feel his warmth, his heartbeat, everything that has been missing ever since James was sucked into a glass tube, never to return.

James laughs, but it’s hollow.

“I am,” he says, “What did Griffin want?”

“What he always wants.”

“Your body?”

Kendall ducks his head.

When Griffin first approached him after Kendall’s victory, his ‘man-crush’ on Kendall had been James’ favorite joke.

Now the mere mention of it makes Kendall’s skin prickle and itch, as though it has suddenly grown too tight.

“Sorry, sorry.” James says, burying his face in Kendall’s neck. “I just...well, you know.”

 “I know,” says Kendall, lifting James’ chin so that they’re face to face once more. He makes an effort to smile, to comfort James somehow, to let him know that they can go back to normal.

 He kisses him softly, below his cheekbone.

“I know.”

He’s pretty sure normal went out the fucking window a long time ago.

 

//

 

James is screaming.

It’s a guttural wail that penetrates everything, and Kendall’s kicking himself for falling asleep,  his body curved around James’, reality all but a vacant memory.

Minus the chain digging into his hip.

He wakes to thrashing limbs and cries of pain; James’ body is hot and slick with sweat, and writhing around on the tiny bed.

“James, James, _Jamie please”_ Kendall’s whispered words of comfort turn to begging, pleading with James to stop; to be quiet, to be still.

It’s useless though, wherever James is, it isn’t here in this bed.

Kendall covers him with his body, every wild movement a bruising blow to Kendall’s thigh, his chest, his stomach.

“It’s ok!” Kendall yells, “You’re safe, James, I promise, they can’t get you now.”

He wonders if this is what James has gone through, when Kendall finds himself back in the arena, caught in one of his own traps as Griffin stands, laughing, the scent of roses and blood stronger than ever before.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, James crying out and thrashing about below him.

Kendall’s pain is blinding, and it worsens with every blow.

The song is an old fisherman’s shanty, one his father used to sing. The same one he’s sang Katie to sleep with on cold dark nights and reaping days.

He’s humming, and then singing softly, this sad old tune that used to lull him to sleep.

James grows still.

It might be minutes, or maybe hours, Kendall isn’t sure.

But when James rolls over, quiet except for the lightest of snores, Kendall lifts himself out of the bed.

He goes out into the hallway, and dials a number so familiar; he needn’t look while he types.

God knows what time it is, but Griffin answers.

“He’ll be there.” Kendall says, “He’ll do his duty, and I’ll do mine.”

He can practically hear Griffins victorious grin through the phone.

“Good. Good, Kendall. I knew I could trust you to do the right thing.”

“There’s one condition though,” Kendall says, waiting a moment for Griffin to laugh at his audacity. But fuck it; he has nothing (and everything) to lose.

“Go on.” Says Griffin, his tone unreadable.

“After his duties as Victor are complete, you will never touch him or hurt him again.”

Kendall hangs up before Griffin can respond, and walks back to James’ bed, sliding in once more beside him.

He doesn’t sleep.

 

//

 

“I miss food.”

 James’ arms are crossed, his chains having been lengthened given his ‘Good Behaviour” since Kendall arrived.

Kendall laughs; the tray over James’ bed is positively covered in bite-sized Capitol delicacies.

“This is food!” says Kendall, picking up a tray of electric blue jelly. He turns the tray upside down and watches as the jelly remains perfectly intact, it’s only movement a slight wobble.

He turns up his nose.

“Kinda.”

James pouts.

“I want a burger.”

Kendall places the jelly stuff on the tray and turns around on the bed so that he’s facing James, taking his hands.

“Look, soon we’ll be home and we can eat burgers until we explode.”

“You mean _I’ll_ be home.”

Kendall sighs.

James knows the arrangement, knows the way that things have worked since Kendall became a Victor, a Hero.

It’s kind of the Capitol’s worst kept secret, Kendall Knight, the most popular whore in Panem.

“It won’t be for long.” Kendall says quietly, his gaze falling to his lap, to their linked hands. “You’ll do the interview and the tour and then you can go home to our Moms and your Dad and Katie.”

“And you’ll go and fuck whoever Griffin tells you too, because that’s what you do.”

It’s a slap to the face.

James has never liked to talk about Kendall’s business with Griffin, but when he has it’s been quiet words of comfort. He tells Kendall how proud he is that Kendall will do anything to protect the people he loves. He certainly doesn’t repeat the whispered words of the public, the same words that prick Kendall like needles when he ventures into town.

“James?” Kendall’s hurting, and James’ gaze is steely.

“What? It’s not exactly a secret that your Panem’s biggest slut.”

James’ eyes are bright in the morning light, bright and dangerous; their glow is eerie and familiar.

Kendall breathes deeply, takes James’ face in his hands,

“James, stop. This isn’t you talking. Look, I’m going to get you away from this, from Griffin and all the freaks here. I won’t let them hurt you like this anymore.”

“It’s too late.” James says, his eyes growing dark and his brow furrowing, “I see them now.”

“See who?” Kendall asks, trying to make eye contact with James, but failing.

“The other tributes, Camille, I can see them all dying Kendall. The girl from Three whistled when she stabbed Alex from Seven in the abdomen. She whistled, Kendall, like the women on their way to the market. And the boy from Nine was so small, smaller than Katie even, and they trampled him at the cornucopia, ran over his body and broke his bones when he was already dead.  And I see them, they look at me and point at me and they’re all drowning but I can’t do anything. And Hope, that was the girl from District One, what a thing to name your child. She hurt Camille, Kendall, and it was like the trout at the fishery, and her head...I had to kill her Kendall, she came up out of the water, she couldn’t swim like us but she made it out. I had to do it Kendall, I had to.” James looks up, his eyes startlingly dark as he grabs at Kendall’s wrists.

He begins to nod, fervently.

“Just like you said, Kendall, I did like you said.”

 

 

The night before the games, they’d dined together in James’ room. Training was over; Kendall had walked James through everything he possibly could. All there was to do now was gather sponsors, donations, and then to wait.

He felt completely helpless.

James had been quiet, the first time in days. When Kendall had been reaped he’d been moody, silent. Until the cameras had fallen on him of course, he’d had a game to win then, there was no way he wasn’t coming home. But James had been mouthy, confident the whole way through. He wasn’t a killer, but he was a winner.  He was already the bane of the other Careers, all watching him like he was their lunch.

He was already a target; something Kendall didn’t have the heart to tell him.

“Get him to pull his head in,” Mags, Camille’s mentor had urged Kendall. “He’ll be murdered before they even bother to go near the cornucopia at this rate.”

But Kendall had watched James, dancing in the hallway outside his room with Camille, his face alight with hope and merriment, and he knew that his was a candle he could never snuff out.

They ate in silence, aside from the occasional joke from Kendall, lame jokes that fell on deaf ears. When James eventually spoke, Kendall almost jumped from his seat.

 “How do I do it?” James had asked slowly.

“Do what?”

“How do I kill someone?”

Kendall had nearly spat out his bisque, the one James’ Mom had sent from home, a last meal of sorts.

“James, can we not-“

“You’ve done everything else Kendall. Survival tips, hand to hand combat, ways to get sponsors once I’m in there. I know everything there is to know. But I just can’t- How did you do it?”

Kendall thought of boys and girls in tightly woven nets, strangled and suffocated as they’d tried to fight their way out. He thought of plunging his trident, already coated in dried blood, into their writhing bodies.

 _Fish_. He’d thought back in the arena. Just like any other catch, they needed to be killed so that everyone could eat. Their whole lives they’d killed so that they could survive.

He hadn’t looked James in the eye; he’d stared at his dinner, appetite long gone. James wasn’t a killer, he never would be. But Kendall was another story, he hadn’t just killed, he’d murdered, and somehow become a goddamned hero for it.

_“You do what has to be done.”_

 

Kendall pulls his wrist from James’ iron grasp, and holds his hand.

“James, I know, ok, I know. I see them too, the people I...hurt, and I know it’s hard but I’m here ok, like you were there for me, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“But Griffin-“

“Griffin won’t touch you, ever. After the tour you’ll go home, you’ll be safe from Griffin forever, I promise ok? I will make sure of it. You’re not in the arena anymore, you’re with me, and you’re safe.”

“How can you be sure?”

When James looks at him, Kendall feels breathless. His eyes are gold, they’re scared and angry and wild.

They’re arena eyes, lost and wild and something not quite human.

Kendall wants to hold him, to take James in his arms and never leave his side.

“When I get home,” he says, rubbing small circles into James’ hands, the way his mother did when he was a child, “We’ll have all the time we want. We can help out at the markets, visit Mags and her aquarium. We’ll spend all day on the beach, sleep there even. It’ll be just like old times ok?”

James is nodding, muttering quietly to himself. But his grip on Kendall’s fingers is loosening, the tension in his shoulders easing, his face relaxing just a little.

“We’ll get Katie and we’ll go out on the boat, nothing but us and the ocean.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

Kendall knows it, but sometimes he gets wrapped up in words and speeches, it comes from years of what the District Four councilmen call ‘Engagement Training.” It’s about choosing words and language to fit the situation, to romance or woo or just generally win over. It’s what won Kendall the Hunger Games.

It’s Kendall’s entire life and somehow, with James’ fragile mind in his hands, he’s forgotten every fucking thing he’s ever learned.

The screaming draws attention this time.

James is rocking back and forth, hands over his ears, knees tucked up under his chin and screaming, wild animalistic wails that could wake the dead. His eyes are completely glazed over and Kendall knows he’s back there, tucked into a cavern near a small pool of water, suddenly aware of a tidal wave like nothing he’s ever seen. Everything is water and children’s screams, and Kendall sees all of it, feels all of it, collecting him, washing him over rocks and trees, scraping scratching and tearing as he goes. He tries to hold on but everything is screaming. James’ screams, the screams of tributes Kendall never knew, the screams of the tributes Kendall killed with his bare hands.

He tries to fight them off; the wailing, drowning ghosts, and he grabs at James face. Singing won’t help this time, and suddenly they’re scratching at him again, only it’s not the dead of the districts, it’s James’ hands, James’ fingers that scratch the skin from Kendall’s cheeks.

It’s James’ foot that collects Kendall and sends him sprawling to the ground.

Kendall’s head hits cold, hard linoleum, and everything is sweetly, blissfully quiet.

 

//

 

“Wakey wakey Pretty Boy.”

Kendall doesn’t want to wake up. Ever.

“Kendaaalll”

He definitely does not want to wake up to the face of Lucy Stone.

“I have no idea how you won anything, Stone,” he mumbles, “You are not a nice person.”

He opens his eyes to take her in. She sits in a plastic chair, wrapped in a tight black mini dress, hair pulled back from her face. She grins,

“I won precisely _because_ I’m not a nice person Knight.”

“Of course,” He rolls his eyes.

“You know Kendall, staying in an abusive relationship is unhealthy, as your friend, I need to tell you that you are above this. You are a strong, confident woman and-“

Lucy is unfortunate that there is a vase of flowers within Kendall’s reach.

“Fucker” She says, wiping blood from her lip.

“Your old lady friend sent you those by the way. Whores, weird old ladies and crazy people, they sure do breed ‘em well in District Four, huh?”

“What do you want exactly Lucy?”

“A pony?  World peace? Someone to put a bullet through my brain?”

Kendall stares at her for a moment, watches as her smile falters for just a second.

It’s all a joke until it’s not.

“How is he?” Kendall asks, his hand grazing the bandage wrapped tight around his abdomen. Lucy shrugs,

“Ugh. Do you ever stop being so selfless?” He stares at her, she rolls her eyes, “Fruitcake is sedated. They were on to it pretty quick, especially after they realised he’d knocked you out. Scratched up your face pretty bad too Pretty Boy, Griffin won’t be pleased at all.”

“I’m sure.”

She hands him a cup from the food tray nearby, and he eyes it suspiciously.

“Drink something Knight. God knows what they’ll do to me if you die while I’m in here.”

Then she winks at him.

It’s unnerving.

 

//

_He’s not afraid of James. He’s not afraid of James. He’s not afraid of James._

“I don’t want to do this,” James huffs.

 Kendall wonders how he could possibly be afraid of someone who pouts.

“Too bad.”

“But Kendall,”

“Don’t whine at me James, it won’t help.”

“If I apologize again will you help me get out of it?”

Kendall sits by James’ feet and shakes his head.

“No, dude, as I said, you don’t have to apologize for anything, and there isn’t any getting out of this. Look, let’s just run through it one more time and then we’ll leave it for the rest of the day, ok?”

“But then I have to do the real thing, right?”

“Yes, then you’ll do the interview. But, look, Miles is mostly harmless,” he ignores James’ squeak of ‘mostly?!’ and barrels on, “So, Mr. Diamond, how does it feel to be a Victor?”

James rolls his eyes, but at Kendall’s stern look he huffs and straightens his back.

“Well, mostly I’m just glad to be out of there. It wasn’t an easy experience at all, and I’m really looking forward to getting back home to my family and the whole of District Four.”

“Does that include Mr. Kendall Knight?”

“Kendall is a close friend of mine; he has been since we were children. I was very lucky to have him as a mentor; I can honestly say I couldn’t have done it without him.”

It’s like magic. There isn’t even a camera, but James is laughing and smiling, brilliant and golden, like always.

“Was that ok?” James asks nervously, hands wringing, and Kendall realizes he’s been staring into middle distance. Locking eyes with James, and brushing James’ cheekbone with his thumb, Kendall smiles.

“That was perfect.”

 

//

 

On stage, James shines.

Miles’ questions are gentle, easy. Far less pressing than any victor’s interview before and it’s clear that boundaries have been set by Griffin. Don’t set off the ticking time bomb, or else.

Kendall both likes and dislikes this, mostly because he doesn’t think James should be up there anyway, he’s not anywhere near stable enough, and it’s been shown in the past that anything can happen on that stage.

Griffin’s men are everywhere, not in Peacekeeper suits of course, the Capitol citizens can’t know that anything is out of the ordinary. They’re all on communicator wristbands, whispering to each other at all times, watching for any sign of catastrophe.

But James is perfect; genial and modest, without seeming weak.

Griffin loves it, proof that his Games are just that, a game. Not something that takes beautiful boys and breaks them entirely, beyond repair. He stands side-stage, beside Kendall, and says things like “Good Boy” and “Well done” in this strange fatherly tone. It’s kind of unsettling.

“You wouldn’t even know he was the same boy throwing those fits a few days ago. It’s remarkable.” Griffin says as he turns to Kendall, clapping his hands together, “Obviously you have quite an influence on him.”

As James talks about life in District Four, about the programs at the Training Centre and his friendship with Kendall, Griffin puts his arm around Kendall’s shoulder, and goose bumps begin to rise on Kendall’s skin.

“He’s doing better than I’d thought.” Griffin muses.

“You know Kendall, I’ve had a lot of interest in James. Many sponsors and top-enders within the Capitol have been very interested in his well-being.  He’s a very charming boy, quite beautiful. Obviously with his mental state I couldn’t have expected anything, but his performance tonight is really something.”

Kendall can’t breathe.

 “I’ve been thinking about your deal,” Griffin continues, impervious to the way Kendall is wobbling beneath him on shaky legs; “I’d like to make you an offer. You and James both give me six months service, and you can both return to District Four, permanently.”

There’s a commercial break then, a slew of Capitol propaganda for everyone to enjoy. Griffin slaps Kendall on the back and wanders away, leaving Kendall to lean back against the wall, fighting every urge in his body. Run, fight, cry, kill, his body is a mess, hunched and shivering he lowers himself to the floor, feeling everything closing in on him, the air slowly escaping the room, the cavernous arena now a hotbed of moving walls and obtuse faces.

He tries to picture a life in District Four. A real life in the district, with James, their families safe from harm. Free from Griffin and the Capitol and perfumed strangers wrapped in satin sheets.

“Hey, am I going ok?”

James’ voice in Kendall’s ear-bud is almost cheerful for James’ standard of late. Old James would be bragging about his scintillating performance by now.

Old James could have probably handled, maybe even reveled in working for Griffin.

But Old James is gone, the James that is here still wakes in fits and sweats, is inconsolable until Kendall begins to sing. He’s fragile beyond belief, and  Kendall simply can’t let him be sucked into Griffin’s game.

If Griffin has James, he’ll never let him go.

No matter what, there’s always some other deal, some other way, another hurdle to jump over before he can get what he wants.

This goes farther than want, for Kendall, this is need. James must be safe, there is no question anymore.

Kendall knows the structure of the programmed telecast. He knows that following this break is the vision of each tributes death, leading up to the moment of victory.

He knows that it will be muted in James’ ears, that James’ eye-line will be guided to a different screen, his ear-buds filled with the noise of something else entirely.

That and Kendall’s voice.

He knows he has no choice.

“You have to go back.” He says, softly.

“What?” James asks, as Miles smiles at him, leads him back to the couch, where stagehands have set up a small monitor, just for him.

“Trust me.” Kendall says, “Let yourself go back there, to the arena. The cornucopia, the sounds of that little kid’s broken bones. Just trust me Jamie, it’s for your own good. This will save us.”

“Kendall, what are you doing?” James whispers into the microphone.

Kendall looks around, waits for someone  to hear his name, to react to what is happening. No-one does, all focused on the big screen, where the boy from 9 is being crushed beneath the boots of the other tributes.

“Look at the screen James, look and remember.”

James looks up, his jaw drops.

Someone in Miles’ ear alerts him, and he tries to guide James back to his monitor, but it’s no use.

“The girl from 3 was nice at training,” James mutters, the reflection of the screen flashing across his eyes. “She was befriending all the Careers so that she could live. One wasn’t interested, so he killed her first. Both kids from 6 were standoffish, they stuck to themselves and then they died together which was kind of poetic, I never saw 12, she kept to herself. Her partner was aggressive though, thin, like they all are down there, but aggressive. Camille...”

Kendall watches as the axe blade slides through Camille’s neck, her blood a violent spray that coats both James and Hope, the girl from One.

On stage, James starts to shake, his hands move to his ears.

He can hear it now, Kendall knows, the screaming has returned.

As water floods the arena, James turns from the screen and looks to the wings, he screams but it’s not wild and unintelligible.

On the screen children drown. Hope, with long dark hair and bright green eyes, pulls herself from the water, mere feet from James, who lies still on the rocky terrain.

Throughout the studio, loud and clear, ringing out around the stadium is James’ voice and the name that everyone knows.

_Kendall._

“I’m sorry.” Kendall whispers into the microphone before the butt of a rifle is brought to his head.

The last thing Kendall sees is James, falling to the floor in agony, surrounded by 100 visions of himself  charging at Hope,  her back breaking as she crashes back into the water.

A cannon fires.

_“You do what has to be done.”_

 

//

 

The cell is cold.

It’s not dirty or dark; it’s not a jail cell from the old movies.

It’s just really cold.

Kendall doesn’t know how long he’s been here, only that there is food, no visitors and every now and then there’s a cloud of gas, and he’s dragged briefly back into the public.

The outings consist of photographs and scripted conversations at well-disguised gunpoint, after which he’s dragged back to the cell for more cold fish and bread.

His only company is the cycle of James’ screams that  runs through his head.

 

//

 

“Do you wish to know why I haven’t killed you?”

Griffin isn’t smiling, which is rare, but he still reeks, so at least some things never change. Sitting opposite Kendall on a white stool, he seems somewhat less impressive. He’s smaller without all the grandeur of rich mahogany staircases and ridiculous entourages. He’s still fucking creepy though.

“Why?” Kendall asks disinterestedly.

“Oh Kendall, I’m disappointed. Not in the mood for our usual sparring games? The war of words you wage upon everyone you meet?”

Kendall looks him dead in the eye,

“Why don’t you kill me?”

“Because they love you, Kendall,” Griffin says. He’s right, of course. Ever since he stepped onto the podium at his reaping day, Panem has loved him. They’re loyal to him, praise him like a hero.

 _Some hero_ , Kendall thinks.

“You made them love me,” Kendall says evenly, “can’t you just make them love someone else?”

Griffin smiles,

“You mean like dear James? Well, I suppose I could.”

 “Don’t.” He warns. He holds absolutely no power here, but all he wants to do is beat that name off Griffin’s lips.

“Oh, it’s not really an option anymore anyway,” Griffin says nonchalantly, “Not since you drove him mad in front of the entire nation. It was very clever of you, manipulating him like that, very clever indeed. But the public, well, they can’t really be expected to trust him now, you know? Of course they’re still better off than James. One would assume that given your complete betrayal, the mixed up child can’t trust anyone.”

“Good,” says Kendall. But he doesn’t mean it, because without use, James is disposable, which is almost worse than being a target.

“Are you sure about that?” Griffin smirks.

Kendall’s not entirely sure that Griffin can’t read his thoughts.

“What are you going to do to him?”

“I think we’ve done enough to poor, sweet James, don’t you Kendall?”

Kendall doesn’t respond, but bites his tongue until he tastes blood.

“No, I think it’s time to let James disappear off the radar, far better for his health to let him be for a while.”

“You’ll leave him alone? That’s it?” Kendall asks, knowing full well it can’t be right.

“Oh yes, that’s it for James. He can go back to District Four, back to his family and friends, as he so charmingly put it.” Griffin pauses, licking his lips, “As for you, dear boy, you have two options. You can report to the Capitol to complete your duties for 8 months of every year.”

“And option two?”

Griffin’s eyes narrow and he leans towards Kendall, who can almost see blood burbling at the corner of Griffin’s lip.

“There isn’t one.” He snarls.

 

And Kendall’s alone once more.

 

\--

 

It’s amazing how, with the wrong person by his side, the bed Kendall has slept in for the last fourth months can feel totally foreign.

The red satin sheets stick to his legs uncomfortably and the bed itself seems to shrink, forcing him closer and closer each night to whatever honored guest happens to be occupying it.

 “Well that was a ride.” Jett Stetson’s smile is broad and bright, something so far beyond white Kendall’s pretty sure he may go blind just looking at it.

“Sure was,” smiles Kendall gently in return.

“Though I must say,” Jett continues, “you’re much better looking on television.”

Kendall blanches.

“Well that’s…unkind,” he says levelly.

Jett is not his favorite client.

In fact one could say Kendall’s hatred of Jett’s smarmy face has been a steady burn in Kendall’s chest long before he had to pretend to enjoy the taste of Jett on his tongue.

“Well Ken Doll, I’m not really known for my kindness,” says Jett, flopping down on the bed next to Kendall and actually licking his lips.

“Sounds familiar,” Kendall mutters, brushing his fingertips over Jett’s oiled chest.

Jett laughs, high and haughty,

“You’re so delightfully bitter _Victor_ ,” Jett purrs, “One would think you would be thankful for what the capitol has done for you. I mean,” he waves a hand around at the enormous bedroom, “It is the Capitol that keeps you in this lifestyle, isn’t it?”

Kendall rolls over, kissing Jett deeply, hungrily.

Anything to shut him up. Or possibly suffocate him.

The apartment is, naturally, the best the Capitol has to offer; ornate furniture, glorious upholstery, art pieces worth millions.

It’s also everything that Kendall hates, everything in blood red and deepest gold, the only views being of the city buildings and buzzing lights, and flashy citizens everywhere he turns.

It’s a fiery Capitol cage, perfectly designed for the beautiful prisoner-boy from the sea.  

As he goes about his business, (sometimes it’s a business transaction, other times a lucid dream) Kendall considers telling Jett exactly what he has to be thankful for. Pain, guilt, the unquenchable desire to ram a fire poker through the chest of every client who comes through his door.

He wonders what would happen if he actually did finally snap and destroy one of the greedy, mindless pigs.

Perhaps then Griffin would actually kill him, instead of just locking him away in a tower of fire and blood, where he is as good as dead.

 

//

 

Fletcher Fowlcofts is Kendall’s favorite client, not that there’s much competition.

A small and timid man, the only indication of his status as Capitol, is the flecks of peacock blue that shimmer through his thinning hair.

During his appointments, Fletcher and Kendall do nothing but sit and talk. One glorious hour of the closest thing Kendall’s ever found to home, as he listens to Fletch speak proudly of his grandchildren and sisters. He practically throws himself on Fletcher when he arrives, wrapping himself around the tiny man and breathing in the scent of turkey sandwiches and cigar smoke.

It smells like the Districts, like home.

Today Fletcher brings news of the work he’s been doing with his sister, covertly distributing goods to the poorer districts through contacts in several different levels of ration transport. It makes Kendall feel the most alive he’s felt in months, talk of real, true humanity amongst the plastic and fakery of the Capitol.

There’s nothing sexual, just wine and conversation, and Kendall finds himself not watching the clock, counting the minutes until he can dive into a bottle of white liquor and forget who he is for the rest of the night.

It’s nice.

“You know I can’t take your money Mr. F.” But Fletch shakes his head,

“Kid, I can’t let you give me your time for free, that wouldn’t be right.”

“Trust me, Sir, that was the first real conversation I’ve had in months, I should be paying you.”

“Oh, well, that’s nice, but really you’re doing me a favor. I don’t have many people to talk to anymore. Not _real_ talk at least.”

Fletch gives Kendall a strange look then, somewhere near a wink and a nod. Kendall leans in closer.

“Things are happening Kid, big things. You should be aware, but I can’t say too much.”

Kendall nods.

“You should know though,” says Fletch, eyes darting nervously, “The big flood in the arena was no accident. There were plans in place, to ensure the right person came out victorious. That poor kid was picked from the damned reaping day, earmarked, y’know? Of course they weren’t to know what would happen to him..” He shakes his head sadly, and grabs his umbrella, leaving Kendall to stiffly walk him to the door and shake his hand distantly.

Kendall waves as the guards walk Fletch from the apartment, his smile uneasy.

He walks to the bathroom and draws a bath, plunging his head beneath the surface and screaming until his vision begins to blur.

 

//

 

James is singing. They’re on the water, the sun reflecting off the gentle waves around them. The sky is cloudless and there’s no land in sight.

The song is familiar, slow and gentle, a lullaby of sorts.

By the time Kendall recognizes it as his father’s old sea shanty, the clouds have rolled in and the rain has started to pour.

Kendall wakes just as James opens his mouth to scream, his eyes no longer gold, but deepest darkest black.

 

It’s become the norm, dreams that turn to nightmares, and Kendall shuffles into the kitchen for some liquid breakfast to calm his shaking hands.

He’s not expecting to find Griffin sitting at the marble bench, eating jam on toast.

“Good morning, Kendall!” Griffin beams, crunching his toast loudly.

“Morning,” grunts Kendall.

“I presume that you are aware of the date?”

Kendall nods, not quite sure the date on his phone wasn’t just another dream.

“Well then, congratulations on reaching your last day of commitment for this year!”

Kendall sits opposite Griffin,

“Where is James?”

Griffin chuckles,

“Oh, you boys. He’s safe in the Victor’s village of District Four, where he’s been since the victory tour was unfortunately cancelled. Inclement weather, you know?” He winks. Kendall feels the sudden urge to shower.

“It was most disappointing for the Districts, of course, they do so look forward to meeting their heroes in person.”

“I’m sure,” Kendall says.

“Well,” says Griffin, rising from his stool. “I’d best be off, Reapings don’t organize themselves. And only two months to go! How time does fly, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon Kendall, say hello to James and the family.”

Kendall showers for a whole hour before Gustavo knocks on the door, waiting to accompany him to District Four.

 

//

 

They slip into the District through the back streets, but Kendall Knight’s presence is forever noticeable, and it takes forever to get through the crowds of waiting fans and friends, eager to welcome Kendall back home.

Gustavo rolls his eyes at the excited masses roughly every 25 seconds.

 

//

 

His Mom offers him bread and soup and blankets and everything else she can possibly think of until he wraps her into a hug and doesn’t let go until her tears stop falling.

Katie, fresh from training, greets him as though he never left, and no greeting has ever felt better.

He pauses at his own window, looking over at the previously empty house next door. Victor’s village hasn’t held any newcomers for a few years now, and Kendall’s house has always been isolated.

The thought of getting James back is almost too much, and it takes a shove from Gustavo for him to finally run around to James’ front door.

He could swear his heartbeat is louder than the iron door-knocker.

The door opens and Lucy Stone manages to punch him then wrap herself around him in seconds.

“Oh God, I can’t believe I missed you, you big idiot, what the fuck were you thinking?”

He looks at her, and gives her a half smile,

“The same stuff I’ve always thought?”

She rolls her eyes and hugs him again,

“Yeah, the same dumb stuff.” She says.

 

//

 

“He doesn’t sleep a lot.” Lucy says over her tea, “So when he does I tend not to wake him.”

Kendall nods, he’s been here 20 minutes and he’s still yet to see James, and Lucy, having apparently hit it off very well with Katie, has threatened to show him her new skills with a trident if Kendall even _thinks_ about waking James up.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” he says, and Lucy shrugs.

“Well, someone had to be.”  Kendall frowns, the familiar guilt washing over him once more, and casts his eyes to the floor.

“Look, I get it, I really do.” Lucy says, reaching her hand across the table and taking Kendall’s. “Griffin threatened what you love the most, that’s what he does.”

He looks at her then, the way her eyes aren't quite meeting his, and understands much more than he ever has.

 

//

 

“What is he doing here?”  They’re onto their third pot of tea, and Kendall is antsy, and thoroughly unprepared for the icy chill of James’ voice from the hallway.

Lucy frowns.

“Good morning to you too Sunshine, look who’s back?

But James is already looking, and glaring.

“Get out,” he says.

Kendall does.

 

//

 

He puts his energy into his boat. With James adamant that Kendall is some sort of traitorous demon, Kendall spends every waking hour working on what used to be his pride and joy.

“What are you hoping for here?” Lucy had yelled through the horrendous winds one night,

“That fixing some boat will make up for the fact you made him crazy in front of the whole world?”

Kendall hadn’t responded. Mostly because Lucy had seemed unimpressed at what was, essentially, Kendall’s exact plan.

The old boat had belonged to Kendall’s father, but he and James had been working on it since Kendall was 13. Back then, some part of Kendall had hoped that one day his Dad would return and they’d go out to sea together just the two of them. Where his father had gone, Kendall wasn’t exactly sure. As a child he’d told his classmates that he’d been taken by a giant squid, or drowned in an attempt to save an old lady from a wild storm.

If they hadn’t believed him, they were nice enough not to say as much.

After Kendall became a Victor, the boat took on a whole new meaning. It was hard, tough work to do on long sleepless nights, just him and James in a battle to beat the nightmares that plagued Kendall’s sleep.

And now it was a battle to get James back.

 

//

 

He hears the screams through his window.

It’s not the screams of a nightmare, it’s the crazed screaming that gave Kendall three cracked ribs and a busted up face.

He’s out the window in seconds, bursting through James’ front door and past poor Lucy, clutching her bleeding nose.

 

James is thrashing, crying out in mindless agony when Kendall crawls into bed beside him, wraps his arms around James and whispers, practically silent beneath James’ roar.

“It’s ok,” he says, “We’re safe. I’m here, we’re safe.”

It’s a mantra, gentle but firm, but James’ body only slows when Kendall begins to sing.

It’s not a hum this time.

James goes still in his arms, his breathing slows until he sleeps.

Kendall wakes up alone in a sea of James’ sheets.

 

//

 

“You’re nothing if not completely predictable,” Kendall says as he approaches James on the beach.

“Says you,” James snaps, resolutely staring into the water.

“I did it for you, you do know that right?”

“Oh I know, brave, _selfless_ Kendall Knight. Just did what you _had_ to do I suppose?”

James body is stiff with bitterness and anger,

“Forget about the fact you promised me you’d be here.”

Kendall grits his teeth,

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Sure you did,” says James, “You just made the wrong one.”

 

//

 

It continues like that for weeks, James won’t have a bar of Kendall by day, Kendall crawling into bed and holding James until the terror subsides by night.

Kendall can’t help but be thankful that at least he get s him some of the time.

 

//

 

“What are you doing out here?” Lucy yells over the roaring thunder,

“What does it look like?” Kendall yells back from his position by the hull of the boat, nails in hand.

“It looks like you’re a fucking moron.”

When the rain begins to pour, water running and rushing down the drains in an all too familiar gargle, they both run like mad to Victor’s village.

James is curled up in bed, hands over his ears. He glares at Kendall, but Kendall climbs in anyway.

“I’m fine,” James grits, but his hold body is shivering despite the bed covers.

“Yeah. Right.” Says Kendall, and adjusts his body to fit the curve of James’ spine.

As lightning intermittently fills the room with light as bright as day, they lie together, legs intertwined.

Kendall feels like he’s come home at last.

“I love you.” He says, nothing close to a whisper.

James says nothing, but the screaming doesn’t come.

Instead he sleeps, Kendall wide awake by his side.

 

//

 

Nothing much seems to change following the storm, James still stares at him heatedly during the day, Lucy starts coming over to Kendall’s for tea, the Capitol starts airing promotion for the upcoming games, sending a chill through every citizen of District Four.

When James walks into the abandoned boatshed where Kendall’s boat lies and silently gets to work, Kendall says nothing, but quietly hides his smile.

It’s not normal, but it might just be ok.

 

 

//

Images flood the screen of a mine collapse in District 12. Every monitor in Panem is tuned into the Capitol feed, even the unsold projectors in shop windows show countless images of the exploding mines, the deceased miners, and their grieving families.

People walk the streets of 4, bemoaning the loss of industry. How it will affect them.

Kendall stands on the street, eyes glued to a monitor in a nearby window. He watches a dark-haired boy of about 12 weeping over the empty grave marked with his father’s name. A woman that must be the boy’s mother stands by, staring vacantly into the distance.

Kendall barely makes it to the beach, pushing and shoving his way through the crowds, all moving to the wharf for the annual District Four Festival fireworks.

He finds James by the pier, wrapped in a deep blue blanket, hidden amongst driftwood and the empty husks of ruined fishing boats.

“Did you see it?” He asks, but James just stares into the ocean.

Nights like this get to Kendall. James was once his confidante, the one that settled Kendall’s rebellious mind, comforted him when he lay in bed shivering, haunted by the touch and caress of strange hands upon his back.

Now James stares.

“I guess it’ll be ok.” He says to himself, the words that used to be James’ when there really was nothing that could be said.

“How do you know?” James asks, his voice small, like that of a child.

“Because of that,” says Kendall, pointing to the sky, “And this.” He takes a handful of sand, and places some in James’ palm.

“Sand?” James asks, his expression barely readable in the growing darkness. Kendall watches sadly for a moment as the moonlight catches on the waves, reflects in James’ eyes.

“Stardust.” Says Kendall resolutely.

“People aren’t stardust.” James says, and for a moment, he begins to sway, “They’re blood and darkness and screams. It’s not real.” His body is rigid, and his hands move to his ears, but Kendall takes them, wraps his body around James’ own.

“It’s real James. All of it. The people from the mines, and their families, and us. One day we’ll all be stardust and nothing will ever hurt us again.”

He says it like he believes it, because he has to.

He has to believe that Fletch was right, that somewhere things are beginning to change. That someone will stand up and do what has to be done.

He has to believe that someday they’ll be ok.


End file.
